


Fistcourse

by DragonAgeSketchz



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Arlathvhen, Dalish Culture, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dalish Lore, Dragon Age Lore, FISTCOURSE GUYS, Unbeta-ed, fistcourse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-22 12:46:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8286340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonAgeSketchz/pseuds/DragonAgeSketchz
Summary: Isala, Mihris, and Dalish are at Arlathvhen, a year after the events of Inquisition. But what starts off as an excursion to reconnect with their heritage, clan, and people, quickly turns into more. Everything ends in fistcourse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vir-ghilani](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=vir-ghilani).



**Hover over the elvhen bits to get the translation.**

 

* * *

 

Nearly three years delayed, but finally Arlathvhen was here. Glancing over to Mihris and Dalish, a grin tugs at my lips before I return my gaze to the sight below us. The glen, overflows with a sea of color. Sails of red, blue, deep green, warm browns, tan, and gold ripple like waves between the trees. All of different designs, unique artisan ship, the very life of the Dalish spread out before us. Most of the aravels sit to the left of the halla pens. Only a few dozen aravels stray from the cluster; bright red sails of the tradesmen clans encircled the space for the festivities.

The preparations for the first day of Arlathvhen are well underway. With several large fire pits already established and dozens of feast tables joined together, waiting empty for the hunters and their bounty.

“There are more clans here then I expected.”

Mihris murmurs from my right, breaking the silence.

“It does seem to be quite a large gathering...”

The thick accent of Dalish’s voice twists with an unspoken question, her gaze still locked on the sight below. My brow twitches, but I roll my shoulder, ignoring the whispering voices of the well and my own inner thoughts.

“Mm, it is unusual for so many clans to be in the area, one would say dangerous if the humans were not otherwise occupied. Honestly, I was expecting fewer clans, or to at least be in the Emerald Graves this year.”

Mihris hums in agreement, gathering our mounts and leading us down a winding path into the clearing.

“Aye, seems some may have traveled a great distance this year. Your clan is an odd participant Inquisitor, coming all the way from Wycome, after such hardships.”

Mihris’s brow furrows at her own words, Dalish nods slightly, letting out a soft hum. She walks near the edge of the path, her eyes locked on the festivities below. The only sign of her attention to us was the slight twitch of her ears as Mihris turned the conversation to the aravels as we continued our way down.

Music begins to play, filtering through the aravels as we near the Hala pens; just as a group of hunters come bounding out  from the woods behind us. Cheers erupt from all around as they run through the camp, holding their bounty high with blessing to Andruil chorusing from the bystanders. The hallas barely twitch, much less glance up at the hunters. Our own harts however, stare after them, snorting as we watch them thunder further into the clearing towards the fire pits.

People begin to matriculate after them, I wave over a few of the halla keepers as Dalish and Mihris watch the festivities continue in the distance. A group of four women come to the gate to meet us. Two of them, young enough not to have their vallaslin, go to help Mihris and Dalish unsaddle our mounts. The two older women, one endowed with the vallaslin of Ghilan’nain and the other with Sylaise, approach me.

" _Andaran Atish’an lethal’lan._ "

" _Ma serannas._ It seems we came right as things began _._ "

Their warm smiles echo my own, the one younger of the two -- who honors Sylaise -- nods, “More than twenty clans have come, I imagine the festivities are going to be quite lively tonight. There was quite a lot of work to make room for all.”

“Over twenty?” Mihris’s eyes widen, “Are two days really going to be enough?”

She laughs, a rich sound that seems to draw Dalish and the younger girls back to us. The older woman -- of Ghilan’nain -- joins in; a youthful and bubbly sound that has Mihris’s cheeks turn a soft rose. She answers Mihris, with a voice much kinder than her companion, who was watching with bemusement.

“Certainly not, with the delay in the festivities and the events of the past few years, I doubt any of the Keepers will be able to part ways. We will be here for at least a week's time, I believe there are many who will linger. Clan Lavellan especially, traveling so far, there are many stories to tell.”

My ears prickle as I resist the urge to search for the smouldering orange sails of my clan.

“Clan Lavellan has arrived already?”

The woman of Ghilan’nain goes to speak but she is cut off by her younger companion.

“Yes, though I believe all the Keepers are still convening over a few matters... We’ve all heard the stories of Wycome. Not to mention Deshanna’s first, gallivanting off to join the shemlen in that ‘Inquisition’; abandoning her clan and grabbing at an empty title. That’s what she gets for taking in someone of her kind.”

The woman titters, a soft tsk punctuating her comment. The younger women standing with Dalish shift with unease, while the older woman gives her a sharp look.

“Her kind?”

Woman who begins to nod, her mouth pursed as if she was tasting something sour.

“Oh yes, the storytellers are sure to speak of her this evening. For a _fenlendaris_ she is quite well regarded, even the _Druast’hren_ wish to speak with her.”

“Fenlendaris?”

Mihris balks, Dalish scowls at the woman as the Ghilan’nain woman.

“Eirlana, you’re showing your age, no one calls the girl that anymore.”

Eirlana turns to the older woman, returning the scowl.

“No, now she is ‘The Herald’ or  ‘Inquisitor’. You and everyone else are so eager to forget who she is, where she came from. Tch. I bet those shemlen don’t know she’s from a clan who strung up their kind with grins on their faces. Bet that would tarnish their _**Herald**_.”

“Eirlana, honestly! You’re going to wag your tongue to the wrong person one day. Go help the others with those harts, you’re doing our clan ill with such talk.”

Eirlana lets out a huff, turning on her heels and leading the two girls and our harts to the back of the pens. The older woman shakes her head, suddenly looking tired as she turns back to us.

“My apologies da’len, Eirlana often forgets herself. The halla make excellent listeners but will rarely correct someone with ill manners.”

Dalish continues to stare after the three and our harts. Mihris however squares her shoulders, a sharp look in her eye as she turns to address the woman.

“Mihris, it is alright.”

“But--”

“Mihris, it is nothing we have not heard before,” I offer the woman a small smile, “we all know someone like that. Often they learn the hard way before they begin to hold their tongue, if you will excuse us, we must meet with the Keepers.”

With a final nod I turn, heading towards the right of the pens; quickly spying the golden sails as they glisten in the afternoon sun. Mihris is quick to catch up with me, Dalish trails behind us both while strapping on her ‘bow’.

“Inquisitor--”

“Mihris, please, we agreed that you both would refer to me as Isala while we are here.”

She rolls her eyes, “Everyone will know who ya are after meeting with the Keepers, it is pointless for me to stop using your title. Why did you let that woman speak of you like that? I don’t remember you as one to suffer the venom of another.”

“Somethings are better dealt with at a later time.”

I offer her a smile, Dalish snorts and Mihris eyes me with suspicion but otherwise lets the manner drop. The golden aravels, now only a few feet away surrounded by men, women, and children. Some dressed in layered robes barely thick enough to veil their forms, others in varying states of undress. All the adults honor the god Elgar’nan, yet each had a different pattern. The lines that flowed across their skin varied from the deepest reds to the brightest gold, all glinting in the light as they mill about.

Near every aravel stood a few heavily armed guards, the _Druast’amelan_. They wore a gold turtleneck tunic underneath, a black and silverite tabard covered their front, hanging down to their knees. Large obsidian pauldrons, sharp vambraces, greaves, and tassets sharpen their silhouettes; adding to their imposing form.

Next to their charges, they seemed like wyvern among a herd of hallas. watching over their charges and turning their watchful gazes to us. Dalish openly glares back at one of them, Mihris whacks her arm with a sharp hiss of cautioning words before they both fall silent as attention falls on us.

“Mihris, Dalish, try enjoy yourselves while I am gone. I will meet you guys at the fire pits.”

“I--” Mihris starts to protest, she and I glance towards the guards before looking back at each other and she lets out a heavy sigh, “perhaps we should leave this to you, Dalish does seem interested in the festivities. She is like a child who has never seen such grand gatherings.”

A smirk tugs at my lips as Dalish balks at the comment and they begin to walk away. I turn to the largest aravel; the sides pushed out, giving it the appearance more akin to a tent with sails. Even from this distance I could hear the soft voices coming from within, although they were muffled by the thick fabric housing their speakers. As I approach, a guard steps in front of me. Her ebony locks are a stark contrast to the raw silver lines twisting across her skin, icey blue eyes pinch slightly as a sneer stretches her full lips.

“ _Lethal'lan, av’ahna ma vegara festivities. Min’tel mar an._ ”

“Da’lan, I am not one to lecture, but I believe it is still rude to speak to a _hren_ in such a manner. One would say it is unbecoming for one of the _Druast’amelan_.” I smile as the tips of her ears go red and she sets her shoulder, but before she can speak I turn to her partner. “Hren, I was told the Keepers and _Druast’hren_ were waiting to speak with me.”

The man, who bares a striking resemblance to Abalas from beneath his hood -- if Abalas were to serve Elgar’nan-- steps forward, waving off the young woman as he regards me. She returns to her post, watching me with narrow eyes as he addresses me.

“State your name lethal’lan.”

“I am Inquisitor Isala, of clan Lavellan, first to Keeper Deshanna Istimarthoriel Lavellan.”

“Your Keeper is already inside, it is well you came quickly lethal’lan.”

He gestures for me to follow him but stops  before the entrance of the tent, next to the young woman. He regards me with steady eyes, watching me and I return the look with a small smile.

“ _Ra ha’inana sa’s av i’ga’lin, lethal’lan._ However, I am not one for lecturing either.”

A small laugh slips from me and a smirk finds itself upon the lips of the guardian. I watch as he relaxes his shoulders and I mirror the movement.

“Of course ha’hren, those are wise words to live by.”

His smirk grows before disappearing as he turns back to the entrance, pulling back the curtain stepping inside. I follow closely behind and as the flap flutters back into place, I almost miss the sharp hissing of mumbled words come from the other side.


	2. Part 2

The guard leads me through the fabric hall of the aravel tent, the muffled voices slowly grow stronger as we near an elaborate tapestry hanging at the end of the hall. With a sweeping gesture he reveals the room to me. Candles are staggered across the room, lighting the space with their soft orange glow. The scent of lavender  hangs in the air, light but notable. All of those gathered turn to us as the tapestry falls shut behind the guard. He moves past me, slipping into the crowd as a familiar voice calls out to me.

“Da’lan,” Rogelan greets me, arms spread wide as she breaks away from the others, “it has been far too long.”

“Keeper Shalelan, I can not tell you how happy I am to see you. You look well.”

She truly did, the years have been kind to her with only the barest signs of aging collecting in the corner of her eyes. Her hair is down, in the place of colorful braids, beads, and ribbon are wild curls the color of ironbark. They shine in the candlelight, cascading down her back till they end just before the curve of her hips. She embraces me tightly, the faint and familiar scent of herbs, berries, and ozone cling to her.

From over her shoulder I spot Keeper Deshanna as she slowly steps through the crowd. Rogelan pulls away, smiling at Deshanna when she stops just a few steps away. We regard each other for a moment, the past two years having not been as kind to her as Rogelan. She looked just a little older, a scar cuts across her face and a few scattered across her forearms. She had cut her wild red hair short, a few sections were beginning to grey. 

“Keeper, it is good to see you again.”

“And you da’lan,” she closes the distance and softly touches my cheek, “you could never just do a simple task, could you?”

Laughter bubbles to my lips, catching as a sharp twist of guilt hitches my breath. I pull her hand from my cheek, clasp it between my own.

“Keeper, there is no such thing as a simple task. Besides, the Creators do not seem to wish for me to walk the simple path.”

Any teasing words die on her lip as one of the Druast’hren steps forward. Deshanna jerks away, moving to Rogelan’s side as the woman nears me. Power oozes from her, pressing against my mind like the gentle heat of a fire. Her sharp onyx eyes shrewdly move over me, her steps light as she paces around me. Thick ivory curls frame her heart shaped face, softening her sharp edge just a little. The woman holds herself like Vivienne; the curves of her body were taut as a bow under her thin gold robe. 

“Inquisitor is it?”

An unfamiliar accent puts a cold edge her words; her warm breath fans over my neck as she sweeps away my hair, resting her hand on my left shoulder. A thrill runs through me as the voices of the well twist, morphing themselves into a familiar voice. The advice comes in a wave, echoes of previous well spoken, sharp words now twisted for a new meaning.

_ My dear, you are leaving yourself vulnerable, a severe miscalculation. Show this woman you are a force as well, one to not only be respected, but awed, feared, aspired to. Show her your strength. _

“I believe many would prefer I leave my human given titles at the door hren.”

She flicks her hand, waving off my words as she tilts her head slightly, studying my vallaslin. A sharp nail just barely touches my skin, softly tracing the thick red lines on my cheek.

“Your deeds have earned you that title. Healing the sky, bringing honor to all elvhen, reclaiming our history, discovering lost temples, and helping Inquisitor Ameridan find rest after all these years. Many feats few have come close to accomplishing. Your title is one to be honored, I am sure you have brought pride to Andruil. Elgar’nan would appreciate such deeds as well. ”

The voices begin to hiss in the back of my mind at the mention of the gods, threatening to drown out the woman as she begins to speak again. But, by the miracle of Mythal, I was able to silence them with barely a thought. It raises the hair on my neck, never before had they been so easily silenced. Suspicion begins to coil in my belly as part of my mind begins to wander in their direction.

“-but those deeds don’t excuse you from the crime of abandoning your clan. The action that led to, and nearly caused, their slaughter. Allowing shemlen to trespass in our temples. Sharing our customs to those not of the people. These, among many other offenses, are all grounds for exile.”

Her cold words halt my musings, a wave of whispers moves through the crowd of Keepers. Deshanna and Rogelan barely take a step before they are blocked by the guard. My hands curl into fists, my gloves stretch and creak in protest. 

Exile.

Once again that word hangs over me, like an executioner's axe. The voices rear their heads again, names of spells and escapes are shouted at me; a pressure begins to build behind my eyes. My mana begins to swirl low in my belly, my breaths slow, deepening as I watch the guard from the corner of my eye.

“However,” she drags the back of her hand along my jaw before gripping my chin, “it is not Elgar’nan’s place to pass judgement, only vengeance. Which your Keeper does not call for so our hands will remain still, for now.” 

She releases my chin, stepping back with her eyes fixed on me. The ghost of her touch burns along my vallaslin and the faint bruises that litter my throat. Her gaze says that she sees them and the band of my necklace, that she has questions. She then gives me a toothy grin, turning to face the rest of the occupants of the room.

“Let this matter be over with. Let trade of supplies, stories, food, and drink flow. Let our people flourish and celebrate. Let there be no more hostilities among us. Come, it is high time we join the rest of our people. Let Arlathvhen begin!”

A laugh high and sweet comes from her lips as she exits the room with the guard. For a moment the room is silent, then a ripple of hushed voices moves throughout the room. Deshanna and Rogelan quickly return to my side, following me out the door as the other Keepers begin to collect themselves.

The sun is still high, already beginning its descent for the day when we leave the aravel’s tented walls. We are just out of earshot, heading towards the fire pits when Deshanna finally speaks.

“That was...unusual.”

“I believe the word you are looking for is Orlesian.”

The words are sharp as the come out, I crane my neck as I begin looking for Mihris and Dalish amongst the milling crowd.

“Yes, definitely Orlesian.” 

Rogelan mutters bitterly, her nose crinkling with distaste. She delicately interlaces our fingers, tucking my arm beneath her own.

“Though Hren Marel is not one known for her theatrics. In fact, her methods are usually more...violent.” Her voice goes flat, she regards me with a furrowed brow and glances at Deshanna. “Marel is one to be weary of da’lan. She seems to have taken quite an interest in you.”

The voices echo her concerns, ancient elvhen hums in the background mixing with a familiar harsh language. They twist and grow louder, pushing forth memories of paint and magic, then heated words and red silk. I push the voices aside, smothering them as I focus on looking for Dalish and Mihris.

“Marel, is that her name?”

The inquiry is forced, irritation shaping my lips as I parrot her name; Rogelan hums in response.

“Da’lan, if you are looking for our clan, I had them stay with our aravels till everything--”

“It’s a bow.”

A familiar thick accent cuts through the noise of the crowd and interrupts Deshanna. My neck protests slightly as my head snaps to the direction of the voice. Three young hunters seem to have approached Dalish, they hold her ‘bow’ with curiosity while Mihris stands off to the side protectively as a crowd began to form around them. Dalish, while offering a playful smile stood stiff, her hands stuck to the packs on her hips. Her ears twitched, jaw tightening as another person collected around them, her fingers twitch almost as if she wants to snatch her ‘bow’ away from the hunter.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. The craftsmanship…”

The oldest of the three hunters turns the bow around in his hands, marveling at the shape and ornamentation. A swell of annoyance fills my chest as I watched them handle my gift to Dalish, their obliviousness to her discomfort did not help matters either. The situation becomes seemingly worse as a First breaks away from the crowd and takes the bow from the hunter.

“There is magic coming from this bow…. Are these crystals?”

Dalish flushes as the intruder begins firing off questions while studying the ‘bow’. Mihris steps between Dalish and First, snatching the ‘bow’ back and roughly handing it to Dalish.

“Vashedan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rubs hands together* this is slowly picking up steam. Yessssssssssss.
> 
> I'm going to commit to Sunday updates for this, I tried to do a quick turn around since I have it written mostly but I was editing and caught somethings and decided somethings were better.... That and school got in the way a bit *sigh*
> 
> Still unbeta-ed

**Author's Note:**

> So someone I follow on tumblr inspired this, Vir-ghilani to be specific. She had a wonderful and vague concept called Fistcourse, that I was enraptured with immediately. She had just enough for me to understand what it was, enough to picture it, and have this idea wiggle into my head. What was going to be a oneshot has grown into a 4 part piece.
> 
> I hope I do the idea justice.


End file.
